


i am the only son

by atrabilicus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Navajo Keith, Suicide Attempt, can be read as platonic but written as ot3, kind of a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 09:57:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atrabilicus/pseuds/atrabilicus
Summary: The sand under him shifts as he falls to his knees. With a sudden crack of thunder, Keith believes he may have angered the Gods. 'Good. They deserve to feel the hurt, to feel the betrayal they’ve brought. Let them be angry. I have nothing left to lose anymore.'What he doesn’t feel is the rain, it starts once he’s tired himself out, brings hope. Good prospects. And he’s asleep in the sand, awoken only by the rising of first light.or; missing days in the desert.





	i am the only son

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally going to be part of a much longer character study piece that i'm not sure i'm ever gonna finish, if i will y'all will know.
> 
> title from dust bowl dance by mumford and sons.

The thing about living alone in the desert is the seclusion. It wasn’t so bad when he was a kid, at least then he had his father. Sure, without friends it was hard, but he still always had his father. All he seems to have now is faded memories. Echoes of laughter from Matt making some dumb joke that play on repeat in his head. The hoots and whistles when he beat his high score again, lifted far higher than needed as Shiro decidedly hiked him up in the air in celebration. Falling asleep on the floor of the shared room between Matt and Shiro.

Reminded of the days where he came home shrieking about being bit by a gila monster to his father, and while it hurt he never cried. Sure, he screamed about it and threw a fit, but he never shed tears over it. It hurt, but it was natural. The days where he hiked to the store, far too young for it, because his father was too sick to make the trip. The nights spent sitting on the roof, staring up at the stars.

And now it’s just silence. Him and the empty shack. Him and hours of hiking the Sonoran Desert. Him and nothing but the stars and the gila monsters, and memories. And the unending loneliness.

Keith’s spent the last eleven hours playing with the radio his dad bought. So many years ago, he used to listen to his father go on about how  _ This one’s different. This one’s going to let us talk to the stars. _ As a child, blind faith in his father led him to believe it, now it’s desperation and hope that leaves him wishing for the ability. Sitting there, fiddling with the controls.

It hits hour mark twelve when Keith hears it (when he  _ thinks  _ he hears it at least); “— _ Keith _ .”

It’s just a moment of crackle, it could be easily mistaken for radio static, but it snaps Keith out of whatever sleep that had started to threaten. He’ll spend another two hours playing with the knobs, a desperate mutter of ‘ _ cmon, cmon, cmon’ _ as he tries to get it back. He’ll spend another two hours chasing after a ghost before he gives up. Before he picks up the damned radio, carries it out into the dark. 

He throws it as hard as he can, as far as he can. Watches it shatter to pieces against a rock, startling off a pygmy owl perched in a hollowed out cacti. The last thing he had left of his father’s destroyed because he can’t keep his temper under control. And from there he turns on the sky. Damns the Holy Wind, the Holy People, the Coyotes, all the deities he can name. He turns his anger on anyone who will listen to him.

“Give them back, you give them back to me! It isn’t fair, you don’t get to take them all away! You don’t get to take away everything good I get!” 

He condemns until his voice is raw, until all he can do is let out a final scream into the dead of the night. No words behind it, just feeling. Just naked pain, and hurt, a noise he’s never made before and he imagines he’ll never make again.

The sand under him shifts as he falls to his knees. With a sudden crack of thunder, Keith believes he may have angered the Gods.  _ Good. They deserve to feel the hurt, to feel the betrayal they’ve brought. Let them be angry. I have nothing left to lose anymore.  _

What he doesn’t feel is the rain, it starts once he’s tired himself out, brings hope. Good prospects. And he’s asleep in the sand, awoken only by the rising of first light.

* * *

Today is Keith’s eighteenth birthday. That means six months. It’s been six months since Kerberos failed. It’s been six months since the only two people Keith ever felt like he was accepted with went missing. It’s his parents all over again. His  _ mother _ all over again. At least he got answers with his father. Closure. At least he knows where his father is buried, that he  _ is _ buried.

It’s been six months since Keith lost everything again. Six months of tireless searching, and all he’s come up with are dead ends and lost hope. He’s tried to hard to keep it together. Tried so hard to be so strong. 

(  _ There’s something in you, Keith. I think maybe, you’re scared to face it, but you’re so much more than you let yourself believe.  _ ) 

“But you’re wrong, Shiro. You wanted me to be the best I could, but you were wrong. I’m not like you.” Words fall on deaf ears, sat on the barely passable couch, speaking to no one but himself in the silence of the empty shack. “I can’t be like you.” When his head drops forward, staring at his hands clamped around dog tags tight enough to embed words into his palms;

**_TAKASHI SHIROGANE - 527-55-6438 - AB POS._ **

Keith tells himself it’s been long enough. It’s been six months without progress. He has a right, doesn’t he? A right to be able to give up. As terrible as it sits in his stomach, he’s so tired. And it’s not worth it. Maybe Iverson was right, maybe there was nothing left to find. Pilot error might be bullshit but that doesn’t mean the fatality count is.

He’s never had much hope in his life, growing up with nothing, and still managing to lose it all. There’s not much good that stays around with Keith. He always manages to fuck it all up. He manages to push everyone away. Manages to make them leave him. 

It took nearly half an hour to haggle information out of his old foster brother, but he makes it work. See, this foster brother of his is currently incarcerated for drug dealing. Which means he had friends. Friends who know how to get stuff you can only get over the counter. After false promises of money transfers, Andris finally pointed him in the right direction. Doesn’t even manage to slip in a goodbye before Keith muttered out a  _ thank you _ and hung up.

He’s had plenty of time to think about this; he doesn’t need to rethink it. He doesn’t need to back out now. Staring down a bottle of some prescription sedatives, a bottle of vodka he’d haggled off of Emelio. It was his birthday, it’s been a rough year, he took advantage of his almost friend’s pity.

The tags are slipped back over his head, clinking together as they hit his chest. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t even feel sad. Just tired. Ready. Content. Numb. This is where it ends. This is what his miserable life’s been leading up to. Everyone around his either leaves, or dies. He should’ve put himself and others out of their misery years ago. He’s only now found the guts for it and he won’t jinx it by over thinking it.

There’s no letter to write, no one to say goodbye to, no one to miss him. It’s slow and meticulous, there’s no rush to work his way through either bottle. One pill at a time, one head tilt back and swallow at a time. By the time both of the bottles are empty, his insides burn, but all he wants to do is sleep. He won’t wake up, this is the end of his story.

Except it’s not.

Keith’s not sure if he’s dreaming, or hallucinating. But there he is, standing at the foot of the couch he’s curled himself up into a ball on.

“Oh Keith, what have you done?” 

No, no he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Shiro’s kindness. He doesn’t deserve his forgiveness, he doesn’t deserve empathy. He’s giving up. On himself, on Shiro, on Matt and Matt’s father. He doesn’t deserve the soft, forgiving but hurt look that’s crossing the other man’s face.

“Why would you do this?”

When Keith finally manages to speak his voice is raspy, a rough contrast to Shiro’s tone; “You left me, you left me and you never came back. You’re just like the others.”

The way Shiro speaks next is unlike before, unlike any tone he’s ever held with Keith before. Not gentle, not challenging. Bitter, and accusatory are perhaps the better descriptors; “And you gave up on  **me** . So who’s really the guilty one here?”

Keith only then realizes it’s a dream. Eyes opening suddenly, his entire body aching and shaking, feeling like his entire insides are on fire. All he can do is roll over, and vomit an unforgiving amount. Coughing, hacking, spitting up stomach acid, nose dripping, forcing tears to his eyes that he can’t tell is from the force or the pain of seeing Shiro again, the way Shiro spoke to him. 

He knows he should get up, knows he should clean the flooring before it starts to smell worse than it already does. Clean himself off, but all he can seem to do is roll over, curl in on himself further. There’s nothing but sobs that fill the air of the small shack, secluded from the rest of the world. The creatures of the night entirely unperturbed by the noise of an aching sorrow.


End file.
